


Djinn in a Bottle

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, BAMF Castiel, Castiel-centric, Fear of Death, Flying, Gen, Imprisonment, POV Castiel, Scared Castiel, Stolen Grace, Tiny Castiel, Trapped, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel goes to see Magnus about an artifact. Magnus decides to collect Castiel instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Djinn in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> I realized after I wrote this that the timeline is off because Magnus died before Hannah was introduced. I messed up, it's inaccurate, don't spend any time trying to make the timeline work in your head. Just take it as it is.

“You certainly are one of a kind.”

Magnus shook the bottle by the top, gently, but enough to knock Castiel’s feet out from under him. He tumbled to the smooth bottom of the jar, trying his best not to knock into the blown glass walls.

Magnus set him down on a shelf, just above eye level, and peered up at him. The angel glared back, banging his fists against the thick glass walls.

“Let me out!”

His voice was too high, and it echoed around the inside of the jar. He winced at the sound.

“Maybe in a little while. When you’ve settled down. The djinn warding will hold you for now, but long term? Or full sized? I doubt it. No, I’ll need to have a cell specially prepared for you.” Magnus tapped the side of the jar, making Castiel’s head ring. “Maybe we can get a look at your wings, eh? I’ve heard they’re spectacular.”

Castiel paled.

Magnus smiled at him, then turned on his heel and left the storeroom. He flicked off the light with a chuckle that made Castiel’s stomach drop.

He had to get out of here. Before anyone came looking for him.

He sat on the floor of the bottle, taking a quick stock of his surroundings. No reason to panic. There were holes drilled in the lid of the bottle, which meant that Magnus wanted him alive.

He didn’t need to breathe, but Magnus didn’t know that, which meant that Magnus doesn’t know much about angels.

Other than that they have wings, of course, and even that little bit of knowledge was worrisome to Castiel. He remembered the old times, when angels and mortals fought, and more than one angel had lost his wings to collectors.

His hair stood on edge thinking about it.

Focus.

His followers knew he was here. They knew he’d come for an amulet that Magnus was supposed to possess. An amulet that could summon God.

He didn’t know whether Magnus had it, but by now, he would be content to escape with his life.

Preferably, before any of his friends came looking for him. Magnus was a better warlock than he’d thought. He didn’t want anyone else getting caught because of him.

He got to his feet and paced out the edges of the bottle. He figured he was probably four inches tall, which meant the bottle wasn’t more than seven. Five inches in diameter.

He pressed his hands to the glass. There were wards etched into it, covering the bottom and circling the sides. It was meant to contain a djinn, a strong one, and the residual magic made the glass cold to the touch. It stung slightly and he withdrew his hands. He exhaled slowly- his breath fogged.

Magnus had shut the light out when he left, but there were other things, things in jars, that glowed lightly and illuminated the room. Castiel didn’t look too closely at them. He looked at the ground- smooth concrete by the looks of it.

The jar was warded against grace, but it wasn’t warded against concrete.

Castiel withdrew to the far side of the bottle (such as it was) and rushed forward, throwing his minuscule weight against the glass.

The jar wobbled slightly.

He tried again.

Slight wobble. He couldn’t tell if he was moving it or not. He tried to look for a distinctive mark on the surface of shelf, something that he could judge his progress by, but there weren’t any. Not that he could see in this light, anyway.

He tried a while longer, hurling his tiny body against the cold glass, over and over and over.

The cold was seeping into his vessel. He normally wasn’t vulnerable to cold, since he wasn’t a real human. But this wasn’t real cold.

He shivered.

 

 

The center of gravity was too low. That’s why he couldn’t topple it.

The bottle was blown glass, not mass produced, and the base was thick. Really thick.

Thick and heavy.

Probably for this reason, Castiel mused as he rubbed his bruising shoulder.

The shivering hadn’t stopped, and he was beginning to understand why his human friends went through so much trouble to dress warmly.

His fingers were freezing, and he shoved them under his arms to try to warm them. He looked up.

The bottle narrowed somewhat as it went up. If he could brace himself against the side of the glass, he might be able to get up there. And if he could get up there, he could maybe make the bottle fall over.

And then he could make it roll.

If he could make it roll, he could get it onto the ground, and it would shatter.

He braced his hands against the frigid glass (was it getting colder? Or was he imagining it?) and shoved his feet against the other side.

 

He slid.

 

Cas missed his wings.

He sat on the floor of the jar, legs pulled up and numb hands pressed to his bare belly for warmth. The cold from the glass was seeping through his jacket and into his back. He considered sitting in the center of the jar, getting away from the edge, but he was too tired.

He was tired a lot, lately.

He looked up at the top of the jar. Seven inches.

And if he had been full sized? Then what- four feet, maybe?

Four feet up, out of reach forever.

He missed his wings.

Castiel remembered sitting atop Everest. Remembered flying up the coast of the Pacific, watching molten stone flow into the water. Remembered the trees of South America, spreading out below him for until miles and miles and miles in every direction. Remembered the exhilaration of falling toward the plains, watching the hot grasses growing closer and closer until he caught himself at the last moment.

He looked at the lid of the jar.

Seven inches.

He missed his wings.    

 

 

Magnus was going to be disappointed, he realized after a while.

If the warlock could force him to manifest his wings, it was going to be a huge let down.

His stolen grace was shredded, dimming by the day. There wasn’t enough to fix the ruined limbs.

If they even could be fixed.

They’d make miserable trophies, if Magnus decided to take them.

He had that small comfort, at least. That one small victory.

With his track record, Castiel thought it might be best to take them where he could get them.

He didn’t think his body was warming his hands.

It felt more like his hands were chilling his body.

He left them there anyway.

 

 

His body was frozen and numb everywhere it touched the glass.

The wards were too strong, he realized.

They weren’t meant to contain angels. They weren’t made for him.

Magnus didn’t know about angels. Didn’t know enough to make a safe warding.

For the first time, it occurred to Castiel that he might die here.

He climbed to his feet, unsteady, trying to minimize the contact with the warded surface. The cold was seeping though his shoes and his breath, when he exhaled, came out in smoky puffs. It hurt his chest to inhale, and he wondered if the moisture in his lungs was freezing.

He stopped inhaling.

He didn’t need it anyway.  

 

 

Voicemail.

It seemed important.

He couldn’t remember why.

Frost was forming on his clothes, on the sleeves of his jacket and the knees of his pants. He blew on them, watching the crystals melt and quickly re-form.

Voicemail. He had a voicemail.

He’d checked his phone before coming here.

Voicemail.

One of the Winchester’s numbers. He hadn’t listened.

He’d been busy with…

With the amulet.

He wondered what the voicemail said. If he’d ever find out what it said.

Sam called sometimes, gave him status updates and told him about cases.

And sometimes Dean called, told him where they’d be. Just in case.

He wondered which of them it had been.

Past, present or future.

He laughed.  

It came out in wisps of white.

 

 

He wondered how long they’d keep leaving voicemails.

If he didn’t return them.

They’d figure it out eventually.

That he was dead.

They’d figure it out.

Eventually.

Probably.

 

 

“Castiel!”

Falling.

He was falling, again.

No wings to catch him this time, and wasn’t that appropriate.

The falling fallen angel had no wings.

Glass breaking.

Heat.

 

 

The bottle was shattered on the floor, and with it the warding, the spell.

For what it was worth, his vessel was the right size again.

Hannah’s hand was warm on his skin, healing him with her beautiful grace.

Frozen tissue repaired itself, vessels expanded, his own life blood flowing hot through his skin.

“Thank you.”

“Did you find the amulet?”

“No. We’ll need to search it out.”

Hannah shook her head.

“We need to go. Before he comes back.”

Castiel nodded. He didn’t meet the other angel’s eyes.

He looked at the ceiling. Ten feet up?

Twelve?

Didn’t matter.

He’d failed.

And Hannah had put herself at risk to help him.

Castiel grit his teeth. He had to be better than this. He _had_ to.

The angels needed a leader, someone to fight Metatron and reopen the gates of Heaven. What they had, for better or worse, was Castiel. He had to be better than a broken fallen angel who needed his friends to come save him.

He _had_ to.

“Go,” he told her, and she looked at him with that puzzled expression that was beginning to become familiar. “I’ll stay and find the amulet.”

“By yourself? What if he comes back?”

“I approached him civilly last time. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Hannah scrutinized him, torn between her desire to obey and her belief that his plan was flawed.

“Hannah. Go. I’ll find it and catch up.”

She nodded and was gone in a flutter of wings.

Castiel looked around the storeroom. When Magnus came back, he and Castiel were going to have a little chat.

Oh yes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a good fill for [the prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/108669.html?thread=40853885#t40853885) which asked for 'scared but BAMF Castiel.' 
> 
> Fun fact: Djinn (or jinn or genie) are kind of like the Quran's version of demons, with humans, angels, and djinn being the three main creations of God. In Christian mythology demons are fallen angels, but it kinda gets mixed up with ghosts and malevolent spirits. 
> 
> According to some mythology, Azazel was a djinn who refused God's order to bow to Adam, taking the name Iblis and becoming, basically, the Islamic devil. 
> 
> So since my Eurocentric experience with Djinn is that they get trapped in bottles, I thought "I bet Magnus would have some djinn bottles lying around, I wonder if they could hold an angel" and that's how we got here. I started writing with the prompt as my guide, but then I thought 'what does warded glass feel like to an angel?' 'Cold, probably.' And then it all spiraled out of control from there.


End file.
